Chapter 93 — Mist Hunt
The mist in the Spirit Realm forest was so dense it felt like congealed, milky oil—
thick enough to cling to skin, to breath, to thought itself.
Even the silhouettes of trees less than ten meters away had dissolved into vague shadows.
Every member of the team wore a safety line cinched tight around their waist.
YiChen had returned to the second squad, while Han Yue led the first at the front, carving a narrow path through the fog.
From Han Yue’s Pact Mark, the Soulwhisper beast unfurled its semi-transparent form.
Its perception rippled outward in silent waves, probing fifty meters ahead into the white void.
Each warrior bore a heavy crystal crate on their back.
Through the velvet-lined seams, faint violet light leaked out—somber, weighty, almost mournful.
Even Logan, the strongest among them, had his muscles locked tight now, every step dragging.
It felt less like walking through fog, and more like wading through molten stone.
The march slowed to a crawl.
Inch by inch, they advanced.
Elena pressed her lips together, trying to suppress the itch rising in her throat.
She failed.
A cough broke free—sharp, unmistakable in the muted forest.
Then another.
Each one tore painfully through the silence.
Her cheeks flushed from the effort, tears pricking reflexively at the corners of her eyes.
YiChen had taken her pack from her shoulders at the very start of the march—
ignoring her quiet protests without even looking back.
“Just let the captain carry it for you,”
Hidaea whispered with a knowing curve to her smile.
“You haven’t slept at all taking care of him these past few days—and you were running a fever last night—”
“Shh!”
Elena hurriedly clapped a hand over her mouth.
Too late.
YiChen turned.
His dark eyes swept over them—deep, unreadable, heavy with something Elena didn’t dare name.
Heat rushed straight to her ears.
She wanted nothing more than to vanish into the fog.
Why am I so useless…
She lowered her head, missing the flicker of pain that crossed YiChen’s gaze.
The forest felt utterly muted now.
Even the faint brush of crystal branches against one another had been swallowed whole.
Inside the Consciousness Sea, Shixi spun in tight, anxious circles.
“She’s shaking when she walks… her breathing’s too fast… YiChen, we should stop!”
Static crackled sharply through the communicator.
“All units—halt.”
Even at noon, visibility was still under twenty meters.
Elena’s coughing sounded painfully loud in the sudden stillness—
each rasp striking YiChen straight in the chest like a blunt blow.
“Set up camp here.”
Shadowfang’s liquid form seeped out from the Pact Mark, dark-gold dragon eyes sweeping over the group.
“This little thing’s so thin the fog could blow her away.”
A collective sigh of relief rippled through the squad as the crystal crates were unloaded.
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Xu Wei and Ryan immediately began directing camp setup.
David and two others moved to carve the protective formation into the ground.
YiChen reached out and checked Elena’s temperature.
His expression tightened.
“Go hunt,” he said.
Logan and Han Yue stepped in beside him without a word.
Inside the Consciousness Sea, Shadowfang circled, barely containing his excitement.
“Target?”
“A high-tier Spirit beast.”
YiChen’s fingers brushed the hilt of his blade without conscious thought.
“She needs nourishment.”
“Hah! Three-eyed essence—”
“It’s yours.”
Shadowfang’s silhouette surged explosively, excitement flaring like a solar burst.
The three figures vanished into the mist.
No one noticed Elena standing there, watching the direction they’d disappeared—
her fingers clenched tightly around the warming crystal YiChen had quietly pressed into her palm.
It pulsed faintly with heat.
Steady.
Unyielding.
Just like him.
—————
The fog drifted like flowing silk, winding soundlessly around the three figures.
By afternoon, it thinned—just enough.
Han Yue pushed Soulwhisper’s perception to its absolute limit.
A fine sheen of sweat gathered at his brow, breath roughening from the sustained strain.
Shadowfang, for once, fully restrained his divine pressure.
Ever since following YiChen, he had discovered that hunting could actually be… enjoyable.
As an emperor-class Light beast, he had once only needed to sit within his territory, absorbing the essence of heaven and earth.
There had never been any need to hunt.
“Found it.”
Han Yue’s voice was low and tight.
“Ten o’clock. Two hundred meters. Silver-patterned Three-Eyed Stag King.
Antlers span the entire back of the neck—minimum two meters.”
YiChen took out a Soul-Repose Herb and placed it in his mouth.
Bitterness exploded across his tongue, obliterating every trace of human scent.
He raised two fingers—wait—then slipped alone into the fog.
Each step landed precisely between fallen leaves, avoiding even the softest whisper of sound.
The mist folded around him like a living shroud.
Ahead, the Stag King lowered its head to feed on crystal fungi.
The third eye on its brow shimmered faintly, light flowing within—constantly alert.
Shadowfang’s dark-gold vertical pupils contracted.
“I can smell it…
the fragrance of top-tier essence…”
His liquid star-body seeped silently from the Pact Mark like drifting smoke, flanking left.
Within their shared vision, the stance of the Xuan-Armored Stag King was breathtaking.
Its body looked as though forged from quenched black iron, muscles rising and falling like mountain ridges.
A silver mane cascaded down its spine, flowing like liquid mithril.
Most striking were its antlers—
the base gleaming with cold steel luster,
the tips burning gold like a setting sun,
as if twin frost-forged blades had been set aflame.
Three eyes, scattered like stardust, watched the world—
ancient patterns circulating slowly within their irises.
“Instantaneous steel-hardening,”
YiChen transmitted silently.
“Now.”
The Stag King snapped its head up.
Shadowfang’s star-form poured down like a collapsing galaxy, sealing into a circular prison.
In the same instant, the stag’s entire body hardened to steel.
Silver light flashed as it rebounded from tree trunks in rapid succession, forcing its way through the encirclement.
Shadowfang’s silver spikes scraped across the hardened body, throwing off showers of sparks.
Just as the Stag King was about to break free—
Whoosh—
A pitch-black arrow wrapped in divine patterns tore through the fog like a falling star.
It pierced straight through the steel armor.
Shadowfang’s star-form caught the collapsing body mid-fall.
The steel-hardening shattered instantly, dissolving like frost under sunlight.
YiChen lowered the Shadowfang Bow.
Residual divine power still trembled faintly in the air.
He knelt beside the cooling body of the Stag King, one knee touching the earth.
His palm brushed gently over the silver patterns between its brows as he recited a quiet requiem.
Shadowfang, meanwhile, greedily drew in the dispersing essence—
dark-gold patterns flowing across the surface of his star-body like living constellations.
—————
Logan’s rough palm slapped down on the silver-patterned stag’s corpse, knocking loose a scatter of fallen leaves from the nearby crystal trees.
“Hell of a beast!”
He let out a low laugh.
“This’ll feed the whole team for three days straight.”
YiChen’s fingertips brushed lightly along the fractured edge of the antlers.
“The remaining Spirit Energy goes to Soulwhisper and Phantom Chime.”
Shadowfang’s dark-gold patterns were already roaming across the stag’s skull, having stripped the most refined essence from its brain and spinal core.
The rest—nutrients, flesh, marrow—was left intact.
When the star-form set the stag’s massive body gently at the center of the camp, Han Yue was already rolling up his sleeves, skinning knife flashing cold in his hand.
YiChen didn’t stay.
He turned and headed straight for the women’s tent.
As he lifted the flap, a faint medicinal warmth spilled out.
Elena was curled inside her sleeping bag, shoulders drawn in, breathing shallow but steady.
The pallor at her lips had eased—just slightly, but enough.
“She’s taken fever medicine,”
Cecilia whispered.
She had just withdrawn her Spirit Force, a half-used cooling patch still resting between her fingers.
YiChen’s jaw tightened.
“…Thank you for looking after her.”
Cecilia only nodded.
Back by the campfire, Logan was already cutting into the silver-gray hide, the blade sinking cleanly through muscle and sinew.
“Save the organs,”
YiChen said without looking back.
Then he stepped once more into the fog.
This time, his target lay higher up the cliff face—
clusters of purple spirit fungus clinging to the crystal-veined rock.
When stewed together with the stag’s heart and lungs,
it would become the best nourishment for restoring depleted vital essence.
For someone who had nearly burned herself empty—
it was exactly what she needed.
